I did love him once
by chocobo.lolz
Summary: Mary goes through her husbands journals and finds one he may of not wanted her to find. Watson/Mary Watson/Holmes.
1. Chapter 1

It wasn't until halfway through our eighth year of marriage that I discovered it. The only journal which he intended on keeping private. I had read most of the recent ones. On many occasions I found them the most interesting because I could easily recall the events which were taking place in our lives when each case was being investigated. But this time I had wanted a change. I looked into the case with his old journals and discovered, hidden inconspicuously among the other books, a much older looking book.

It only took me a few pages to realize that the entire book was filled with the romantic encounters he has seen throughout his life. From his first innocent courtship, to his first kiss, and eventually to his far less innocent affairs with other women (some of which I can only assume were outlaws of some sort, obviously introduced to him by Holmes)

When he walked into the room, I made no effort in hiding the book from him. I sat at the edge of our bed, looking at him sadly, the easily recognizable journal resting on my lap, hands folded delicately over it.

"How much did you read?" he asked calmly.

"Just the first and last pages" I answered.

"Holmes told me it was unwise to keep a journal of my intimate relations, now I understand why" He answered, with a soft smile on his lips. He was trying to be gentle.

"I suppose you do." I answered somewhat coldly. I wasn't angry, but I didn't want him to know that. I wanted him to remain careful of what he said, so that he didn't say anything which could upset me. I wasn't sure how I felt about this; I didn't want him to make it any worse.

He sat down next to me and put his arm around me. "I'm sorry" he whispered into my ear, then placed a kiss on my cheek. What he was sorry for? I don't know. For knowing other women before he met me?

"It doesn't matter" I decided. "I wasn't under the impression that I was your first and only love" He smiled. I understood. He knew I understood. I wasn't the type of wife who got upset over little things like this.

After a long comfortable silence, I announced that I needed to make dinner. He stood up and took my hand, helping me rise. I left the book on the bed. He gave me a peck on the lips and I began leaving the room. But just as I reached the doorway I began thinking about the book. I was the last person he wrote about, but was who was the person before me? Who were the women he cared about the most before he met me? What if he still knew them? I turned around quickly. He looked up, and before he knew what I was doing I snatched the book off and ran to the other room, locking the door.

"What are you doing?" I heard him ask from the other side of the wall.

"Reading" was my stubborn but honest reply.

"I thought you said you didn't care" he questioned, he sounded amused with my actions but I thought I heard fear in his voice also.

"I will care less once I read it." I couldn't have the mystery haunting me forever.

I thumbed through the pages, beginning in the back of the book, back tracking through the notable parts of our relationship until I found the first entry about me. I wanted to know who it was he loved before me, how much he loved her, how long he waited after seeing her to start seeing me, and most of all, if he still knew her. I turned the page which would hold the final entry about someone other than me.

I gasped.

"Mary?" John questioned worriedly. I ignored him. To my dismay the top of the page was indeed labeled with the name of someone I knew. But it wasn't a woman. In large capital letters the first line simply said _HOLMES._

"Mary?" he asked more calmly. he said it knowingly in fact. He figured I had discovered his secret and was prepared to talk to me about it. But I didn't want to talk about it.

I stared at the name.

_HOLMES_.

I looked at the previous page; it was labeled the same way, as were many of the others. I frantically began flipping through the pages. I counted. There were more pages marked _HOLMES_ than _MARY_. I held back tears.

"Mary." I could hear him trying to unlock the door.

"Yes?" I asked quietly.

"Let me in." He requested, speaking even more softly than I had.

"No." I replied determined.

"Mary?"

"What?"

"Are you near the door?" he asked.

"No…" I answered confused, as the door flew open after making brief contact with the bottom of his shoe.

I looked up at him, tears flowing down my face. He looked concerned. I didn't care though. It was one thing to keep a book of all of the people you've loved but another to keep those people in your life. My husband spent more time with Holmes, wrote more things about him in his damn journal, and he loved him more than me too. I wasn't angry, I just wished I would stop feeling like second best.

"You love him" I said sadly.

"I did love him. ...Once." He answered. Sitting down next to me, he pulled me into an embrace.

"But you still see him, how could you..?" I began to question but he cut me off.

"He told me he'd never love me. He said he'd be with me, but never love me." he stared forward. After a pause he answered distantly. "So I moved on."

"But…" I was about to say '_Of course he said he'd never love you, that's who he is. Of course he'd never admit it, but that doesn't mean he didn't love you. He loves you_' But I didn't.  
I did not need to inform my husband that the love of his life was still obtainable to him. I didn't need him to know that, knowing Holmes, he was still in love with him, and still denying it to everyone including himself.

Sherlock Holmes had never told my husband he loved him, but I had. And I'd let Holmes regret that for the rest of his life.

"I'm sorry." I whispered. And he pretended it was alright.

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That just popped into my head, so it may suck..sorry


	2. Chapter 2

_From the journal of Dr. John H. Watson_

Thursday, December 29, 1881

Never had I thought staying in and drinking with Holmes would cause me the confusion and fear I'm going through now. Last night, in my drunkenness not only did I kiss my college and friend, but I am embarrassed to say I took him then and there on our parlor room floor. Throughout the day my dear friend feigned memory loss and avoided any form of contact between us. I find his tactic cowardly but have been playing along, not because I do not think it should be addressed but because I'm not sure how I would address it. I fear my actions could have been caused by more than just the drink.

* * *

Thursday, January 5, 1882

He is trying to do it again. He behaves as if he is completely innocent yet still tries to find excuses to get me drunk. I'm not sure he knows that I remember. He says that when he solves this case we are going to celebrate. I don't know of any form of celebration with Holmes which doesn't involve alcohol. Strangely the only thing which bothers me is the reason behind his actions. I cannot figure it out. Is he that sex deprived? Or is it because I was the assertive one last time, could he merely be attempting to regain his dominance over me? I wouldn't put it below him to get caught up on that to the point of obsessive scheming.

* * *

Friday, January 6, 1882

He solved the case and invited me to drink with him as promised. I respectfully declined. Then --I do not what possessed me to do this but-- I stated the reason "I wouldn't want what happened last time to happen again." to which he replied "Ah yes, the time you took your cloths off. I was quite startled when I came out of my bed chambers to find you passed out on the floor." I held back a grin. He had set me up perfectly. I replied nonchalantly "No I was referring to the time you took my clothes off." He immediately tensed at this and his voice went up an octave as he said "Right. Then. …of-of course" I smiled. I always did love throwing him off guard. I sat down and poured myself a drink. Then he smiled too, for some reason I decided that if he wanted this then I did too. But after finishing the first drink I lost my nerve and bid him a good night, locking myself in my room. I feel awful about it now. Not because I refrained from having drunken sex with my flatmate but because I handled the entire thing irresponsibly. And when I am the one behaving foolishly, one can only imagine how Holmes will behave...

* * *

Sunday, January 8, 1882

When I awoke yesterday morning I found a sleeping Sherlock Holmes in front of my doorway. I was aware that it was unusual for him to be doing this, but I assumed he knew that too, so instead of waking him and pointing it out I planned on ignoring him. I attempted to quietly pass him, but as I turned the doorknob he rose quite quickly but not so silently. He shouted, It startled me and I shouted also. The room went from being very loud to very quiet. I glared at him. My heart beat was calming but I was not amused with the fright he gave me. I folded my arms across my chest. Holmes broke the silence

"You know, you shouldn't startle people like that Watson, it is very rude." I scoffed in disbelief and annoyance.

Normally, after realizing I was behaving like a teenage girl, (re-read "folded my arms across my chest…scoffed in disbelief and annoyance") I would feel quite embarrassed, but I had no time for this emotion, I was too busy trying to fight back the fluttering feeling in my stomach. For Holmes was staring at me. Amusement showed across his face but with it there was this look of fondness. This look of pride, and contentness, and dare I say it? admiration he was giving me not only caused joy to flow through me, it also scared the hell out of me. I quickly stepped over Holmes and muttered something about running errands and exited our flat on 221b baker street.

I refuse to say I was drunk when I returned. I was less than sober I suppose but in no way was I drunk. At least not on alcohol. My winnings at the betting table could of perhaps caused my strange behavior. When I returned to our flat Holmes was sitting on my chair waiting for me. He stood immediately, seeing my hasty entrance. I wasted no time, and before I could think about turning back I strode up to him and pulled him into a kiss. I had only planned on kissing him briefly, giving him little time to react but still allowing myself enough time to get a sense of his reaction before retreating like a coward. However, I found it difficult to pull away. I suddenly recalled all the events which happened the other night very vividly and I didn't want it to end. When I did pull my lips away from his, I wasted no time before I began kissing down his soft and suddenly very familiar neck. I slid my hands down from his shoulders to his hips, slowly though, allowing my hands to caress his body during their travels. I felt so comfortable doing this, that I would of continued if Holmes' question of my name hadn't snapped me out of it.

"Watson?" I froze.

"...y-yeah?" I said stupidly into his neck too afraid to show my face.

"Just so we're uh clear, where does this... where does this um ...leave us?" Realizing the discomfort I was causing him I stepped back quickly, to my surprise he grabbed my shoulder preventing me from moving too far away. "Where are you going? Do understand how difficult it is for me tell what you're thinking when you keep locking yourself in your room? Camping out in front of your door doesn't even work. Goodness, man, stop running from me" He was discouraged. It is sometimes difficult for me to remember that, although he is brilliant in every other subject, my dear friend is rather clueless in the matter of emotions. "Okay, I'm not going anywhere." "Good then." And that was it. I waited for him to continue, or to do something, anything. But nothing happened. Assuming nothing was going to happen I picked up the paper and sat down. It was my mistake to assume though, because the second Holmes noticed he became very agitated, and began pacing back and forth in front of me. I looked up from the paper, raising an eyebrow at him. "Well?" he asked.

"Well what?"

"I asked you a question."

"you most certainly did not!"

"yes I did. clearly you weren't paying attention.""what was the question?"

"what?"

"the question Holmes, what was it that I 'clearly wasn't paying attention' to?"

"where does this leave us?" he said suddenly serious. I was surprised he wanted to discuss what had just happened.

"I, I guess we can stay friends, if you don't mind. If you give me some time I can get over you and things can go back to how they used to be." I wasn't sure if I could get over him, but I'd rather try than loose his friendship. I looked at him expectantly, but he said nothing, he just stared at me.

"what?" he said finally, rather discouraged.

"I... d-do you want me to repeat it?" I asked confused.

"What? No! Are you dense? I don't want you to repeat it! And I most certainly don't want you to get over me... I, I want" he looked down for a moment. I thought it was because he was trying to decide what it was that he wanted but when he continued I realized it was just because he was nervous. "I want you to kiss me. ...Like you did, j-just then." He really did look adorable when he was nervous. When he looked up and saw my grinning face his nerves passed and he smiled back. Another adorable expression. It was in no way difficult for me to do as he had requested.

The following events of that evening I don't care to write about in detail. It was basically a (thourough) repeat of our drunken night nine days ago, and a bit of a repeat of earlier that night. (The discussion of Holmes' question came about and turned into a debate about how long someone should wait for an answer before repeating a question (or if it was necessary to repeat it at all) and whether or not someone should perhaps kiss someone _back_ if they wanted to be kissed. I choose to believe that I won our debate, but certain (ridiculous) arguments could not be dismissed so the matter remains at a stale mate for now. It, however, was agreed that this new sort of relationship between the two of us is most certainly a good thing. The future seems to be looking bright.

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I couldn't stop thinking of ideas for this so I've decided to make it a multi chapter story. It'll be about six or seven chapters depending how I break it up. Hopefully continuing won't ruin it.  
This isn't my favorite chapter (I've already written a couple and I like the next one more) but I figured adding something in that wasn't completely depressing couldn't hurt...  
Please review  
and thanks so much for all of you who already have, or favorited this. I absolutly love you :)


	3. Chapter 3

Sorry this took so long. Thanks for reviewing.

Two days after I forbid my husband to see Mr. Holmes, his depression began. I did not intend to control my husband in such a cruel way, but after the events which took place the other day, I found it…necessary.

Pretending the details of John's past no longer mattered, we had carried on the way we always did. The only things different in my daily routine were my thoughts. I found ignoring the revelation of the manner of my husband and his best friend's relationship, extremely difficult. My every thought went back to my husband's journal entries about his companion, the only comforting thoughts I had were 1) My husband would never do anything to hurt me and 2) Mr. Holmes could not possibly still have feelings for John. Not after seeing that John clearly was in love with me.

However I found that only the first statement provided me with reliable reassurance after spending an evening with Mr. Holmes. When I arrived home after running some errands, I found, sitting in a chair in our living room, a certain unwelcome detective, next to him was my husband. It is extremely rare to find Mr. Holmes in our house, he and John usually spend their time together at Mr. Holmes'. I suspect that having Sherlock be our guest (for the first time, in a very very long time) was for my benefit. It was an attempt, on my husbands part, to reassure me that he and Mr. Holmes could be trusted. I fear his plan backfired greatly.

The little things were what ended up bothering me the most. When I invited Mr. Holmes to stay for dinner he looked as if he were about to decline but, after glancing at my husband, changed his mind. He accepted the invitation and stood up. My husband stood also, and being an --almost neurotically-- tidy man immediately straightened himself out, straightening his jacket which had become crooked from his sitting down. Then, as if it were only natural, he looked to Mr. Holmes, sighed, and began fixing his collar. --There were many other things which could be fixed about Mr. Holmes' appearance, his hair was tangled and sticking out in every direction, his clothes were crooked and wrinkled, even his eyes seemed wild. He gave one the impression that no matter what they did, he could not be tamed. But my husband still attempted to fix him, and Mr. Holmes did not protest, even though they both knew his attempts were in vain. I imagine that this was what their relationship was like all those years ago. Each of them knowing Holmes would not be able to show the emotion expected by most normal human beings, but John still trying, and Holmes allowing him to. The difference between then and now, though, was that John, luckily, did not settle for Holmes' wildness, as he did now. He let the collar be and led us all into the dinning room.

Even as we ate, the bond and general closeness between my husband and Mr. Holmes bothered me. It really was quite ridiculous. Why my husband thought seeing them together would show me that they no longer had chemistry was beyond me. Our guest didn't even have to ask for food to be passed to him. After I handed John a platter he would put a serving on his plate and hand it on to Holmes without even looking at him. The peculiar thing though, was that he did not pass all of the platters (platters which, I presumed, held things Mr. Holmes did not like) and when our guest finished his small helping of potatoes, my husband passed him the platter without thought, before Mr. Holmes even asked for seconds.

The conversation between Mr. Holmes and myself, at first, was unimportant, merely polite small talk. I had no difficulty hiding my growing anger toward him from he and my husband. But halfway through dinner, Mr. Holmes thought of something to say. He showed great excitement over it briefly when the thought first came about, for he behaved as if the thought had literally struck him and his eyes lit up. But the excitement passed as quickly as it came, and his expression became neutral once again, for a moment I wondered if I had just imagined it had happened.. but then he spoke. "You're husband saved my life today." He said nonchalantly, but I could sense some pride in his tone. "You see, I forgot my revolver…"

"Forgot." My husband scoffed.

"Yes, forgot." Mr. Holmes asserted, not at all insulted by my husbands' disbelief, then continued on with his story "I forgot my revolver and found myself in a situation where a gun would be quite helpful, in fact without it I was in a bit of trouble… a felon was pursuing me with obviously violent intentions, I believed Watson to of gone, but luckily for me he had caught up with me to give me my revolver… Though he ended up using it himself when he found me cornered with bat being swung in the direction of my head. He shot the thug right in the shoulder, perfect aim. The police were able to apprehend the villain, and I was able to walk away a with an unbeaten body." He smiled at my husband, then looked at me. "What's the matter?" He questioned innocently, but he seemed to already know exactly what the matter was.

But that didn't stop me from answering coldly. "My husband is not supposed to be using a revolver, he has an injured shoulder."

"Mary its fine…" John tried to reassure me.

"If you cared about him at all you would start taking some responsibility for yourself so that John doesn't have to take care of you all the time." I said, anger rising.

Holmes didn't seemed the least bit concerned with my anger. He simply asked my husband "She knows doesn't she?" I glared at him. "...Yes. She most certainly knows, I had a theory, but it couldn't be confirmed. Not until she spoke to me with such a short temper. …I told you Watson, you really shouldn't write down such personal things…"

Repeating our first meeting, I threw the contents of my cup in his Holmes' face. However this time it was milk instead of wine, and instead of receiving a confirmation for my request to leave, my husband told me to sit back down. Holding my hand in his he looked to Mr. Holmes who was dabbing his face with a napkin.

"Yes she knows Holmes, and she's fine with it." He said calmly.

"Fine with it? Clearly not, her anger towards me, and growing discomfort around you shows that she obviously is not fine with it."

After realizing Holmes had no intention of accepting our decision to ignore the matter, my husband stood up to bring his plate to the kitchen. I stood also. On his way out he unfolded his friend's napkin revealing some asparagus "You should really eat your vegetables Holmes." he said sadly, as if he had given up on him, and walked away.

Even my husband's cold behavior towards Mr. Holmes irked me. The fact that he even knew and cared that Holmes hadn't eaten his vegetables was irritating. Just to make it worse, just before my husband reached the door, Holmes muttered emotionlessly "For you, my dear Watson, anything." and took a bite of the slightly over cooked vegetable.

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I was planning having this not contradict with the Sherlock Holmes books (well, you know, aside from the whole Watson/Holmes slash) but that may not happen. Luckily this is in the movie section so you guys probably won't care :)


	4. Chapter 4

oi, writers block i'm sorry.  
perhaps read this slowly?

* * *

_From the journal of Dr. John H. Watson_

Sunday, July 9, 1882

Being the fool I can sometimes be I assumed being in love was a good thing. I'm afraid I was unaware of the hurt it causes. He made me happy, he still does but now he also makes sad. So sad in fact that I am unable to leave him. I care for him more than I've cared for anyone in my entire life. I am afraid no matter what emotion I feel for him I will never leave him, because whatever it is that I feel for him I will feel it more strongly than I ever could for anyone else. When I see him I see the man I love. And I feel happy. Remarkably happy, I can't believe he exists and that he is mine and that if I wanted I could just go up to him and kiss him and he would kiss me back. But then I remember. He really isn't mine, not truly, and all of that happiness is taken away, leaving a hole in me which I do not understand how to repair. I almost wish I had no feelings for him, so that pain would not be so great, …but only almost. Then I remember he needs me. He may never love me but he says he will never love anyone so I am as close as anyone will ever get. I do make him happy, and that is enough. Because I love him I love his happiness and as long as I help cause it I will stay.

Wednsday, July 12, 1882

He never told me to leave.  
He said "I'm sorry there is no way I could love you. I am incapable of it." he said it confidently as if he wasn't sorry at all, and he even made it seem like it was my fault, like I had ruined everything by expecting it of him. And of course I was shocked, I saw that he had been prepared to tell me this, I saw how cold he was acting and I didn't understand. I still don't.  
He told me he would understand if I left, or if I loved him no longer. But he did not act like that is what he wanted, he almost looked sad to say it, before his eyes were cold again. And then, finally, I understood a small piece of this overly complex puzzle, he wouldn't understand.

"Do you _want_ me to leave?" I asked softly. The long silence led me to believe that he could not here me over the sound of the falling rain outside.

"No." he paused. "Never."

Friday, July 14, 1882

He is far to selfish to let me go even if it were best for me, and that is why he will never love me. Because he will never be able to let me go, and he will never be able to make sacrifices for me. And here I am completely in love with him, I will sacrifice not being sacrificed for because I do love him and I always will. Its twisted and sad yet nothing I am wiling to leave. I wonder if I'm ill, but then I stop because I don't want to know the answer, I just want him and I will stay as long as he will keep me.

Sunday, July 16, 1882

I have never been able to change him. Yet I still try. I realize a Holmes I change is a Holmes I could never love. But still I wish he would just love me back. I tell him I love him everyday and I will as long as it is true (which, I fear, could very likely be forever). He enjoys it too. Being loved lifts him up. As does being admired for any reason at all. At first that made me hopeful. In the back of my mind I thought perhaps he could love me. If he loves me being in love with him he would find he loves me for other reasons also. Then it made me angry. When I told him, and he never said it back it would break my heart. But he enjoys it, how could he enjoy hurting me? Now I just don't feel, its pulled the life out of me. Every form of affection does not feel real because he doesn't care, he couldn't care. How can anything make me happy when I know it isn't real? I fear no matter how much I love Holmes I am unable to take this sadness any longer.

Thursday, July 20, 1882

I waited up for him, as I have many times before. I sat in the chair I always sit in. When he walked in all he did was look at me, and I felt a tear down my cheek. I am a grown man, crying, but I do not suppose I cared. Only a moment passed after he noticed and he understood. He went up to me, only one step out of ten was hesitant. When he finally reached me we kissed desperately, clashing out mouths together. Slowly, yet recklessly. But it was a hollow act, we just wanted to be near each other. When we stopped our faces were wet with my tears and I could hardly breath. I leant my forhead against his and looked in his grey eyes one last time. The moment was perfect and terrible and I can't decide whether I regret it or not.

I whispered "I love you."

He replied "Goodbye Watson"

And off we went into our separate rooms, as we will every day from now on.

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right-o time to listen to me blab :P  
I tried to make Watson's entries kind of contradict each other because I figure he's confused.  
for ooc-ness I'm not saying he's behaving this moody, I just think its what he's writing down. like a feelings journal (hehe desperate housewives) I tend to write down how i feel but then act perfectly erm... normal(?)  
I'm glad you all think watson/holmes is canon. really I do too, I just happen to think that every slash couple ever is canon soooo I can no longer tell if I'm wrong or not. :)  
A lot of you have mentioned that you don't like Mary, I personally have strong oppinions on how I feel about each of these characters I however don't want the story to seem biased sooo i'm not gonna tell you :P ...though you could probably guess who i like and who i dislike (and who i super love)  
if there is anything good about this chapter please mention it because I'm hoping I'm wrong about it sucking. (if you need to lie to me I think I may be okay with that hehe)  
next chapter i'm hoping will be up thursday (because its been written for weeks and thursday is a good (supernatural) day soo I choose that day to post on. ...yay)  
thanks for reading


	5. Chapter 5

Thursday!  
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The events which occurred in the final months I had with my husband were a complete surprise to me.

Hardly anything was different from our previous years of marriage. I was still a caring and attentive wife, John was still a gentleman to me, and Sherlock Holmes was still a complete ass. With those basic facts our current situation should have worked out perfectly. I would care for my husband, providing him with everything he needed. He would be the good husband he was and follow my wishes without complaint, and Holmes being so self involved would move on with his life without missing a beat.

However this was not what happened. Not at all. My husband fell into a sort of depression. He ate less, lost motivation, and just seemed overall unhappy. However, as expected, he said nothing. He really didn't blame me for this which I was grateful for, but I really hoped that the person he did blame was someone, anyone, other than himself.

My husband did nothing to help himself, at first I believed he agreed to stay away from Holmes because he knew it was best for him, but now that we've both become aware that it obviously is not the best thing for him he still says nothing. I fear he has given up. I, however, have not. I believe that if I am there for my husband the hole in his heart can be repaired.

With my husband's passivity and my determination there was nothing threatening to upset the fragile balance of our marriage. That is what I had believed. However, my predictions about Mr. Holmes were much less accurate than the ones I made about my husband and I. For it was only two weeks before he showed up at our door.

John was supposed to be working, but was feeling ill and needed to stay home. In the past this sort of illness was not one which would hold my husband back, however, with his spirits down he was unable (or perhaps unwilling) to fight it. When I let Mr. Holmes in, I assumed he was unaware that my husband was home, and if I could help it I was going to make sure my husband was unaware that Mr. Holmes was present also.

Despite my rudeness to him in the past, I treated him very kindly, I knew I would get a chance to treat him as I wanted later on, but I needed to have reason for it. It would only be a matter of time before Holmes insulted me in some way.

Before I could even pour the tea he began.  
"I want Watson back." he said abruptly. I nearly spilt the cream which I was setting on the table.

"Oh?" I questioned. I was unsure of what he meant. Did he want my husband back as a friend or lover?

"Yes, please understand that although I may appear to be this perfect independent brilliant detective, ...I do have my flaws" I rolled my eyes. "I know it is difficult to believe." he told me as if I were rolling my eyes at the suggestion of him being flawed. "What I'm saying is Watson is my better half, and I'm afraid I can not go on like this …without him"

He seemed very sincere and was behaving rather maturely, I was impressed. I almost agreed to allow him to have his friend back until it occurred to me that the only thing about Sherlock Holmes which causes an impression is his outrageous behavior. He looked up at me expectantly; he almost looked like a sad puppy. I wasn't about to fall for it though.

"Interesting, but…" I began. His sad expression faltered. "I'm afraid it is difficult for me to believe you."

"I must assure you I am being completely honest." he said, then continued. However instead of looking at me he was looking past me towards the room my husband was resting in. He knew he was home. "I fear all the years I've spent with him have spoiled me. I am no longer capable of functioning happily when I am completely on my own." His expression softened. "Watson is my dearest friend, and my only trusted companion."

I picked up our cups and carried them into the kitchen, Holmes turned around to face me, awaiting my reply. "You're in love with him." I stated. He looked baffled (I don't suppose he actually was, but he was rather good at pretending.)

"I am not." He said defensively. "I am incapable of that emotion. …and if I were -capable of that emotion- it would be directed towards a member of the fairer sex." My husband appeared at the doorway of our bedroom.

"What about you're history with my husband Mr. Holmes?" I said wanting him to continue. My husband didn't need to hear this, but it might allow him to finally see Mr. Holmes in a new light.

"That was… merely for educational purposes, it was intriguing and..fun in a way… but the excitement died down into…" His expression became melancholy "…into something else." but he quickly snapped out of it. "So I began finding our entire situation …no longer desirable. I never loved your husband, I do not now, and I never will." I saw my husband tense, as much as he was trying to conceal it (From me or from himself I do not know) I could tell everything Holmes said was killing him inside. "So could I please have my friend back Mrs. Watson?" Holmes concluded.

"Well, you've convinced me, you're relationship is entirely platonic. Of course you and John may continue seeing each other." I said a bit over cheerfully. I looked at my heart broken husband "Did you hear that honey?" I said innocently. Barely able to conceal the sinister joy I was getting out of this.

Mr. Holmes turned around quickly to face my husband. For a moment he looked shocked, and afraid, and sad all at the same time. But he quickly composed himself and walked over to John smiling he shook his hand firmly once. My husband faked a smile back.

Thanks so much for the reviews (even tho i kinda begged for them last chapter haha)  
I have one comment for this chapter and that is that in Holmes' dialogue the comma's and the dot dot dots and stuff are there as pauses for thought (because thats sort of what RDJ does in the movie, I noticed.) ...its not there to show him being nervouse or anything (although I did have a nervouse Holmes in chapter 2 hopefully it will never happen again.)  
chapter six is not written yet, however i'm going to see the movie (again) this weekend so hopefully that will help me write more.


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